The Marriage Act

by Alyssa Everett

  “Yes,” Caro agreed with an uneasy laugh. “I’m grateful now that my governess never gave up on my French verbs.”

  The clock on the mantel struck half past six. Her father glanced in its direction. “I mustn’t keep you. I expect you still haven’t had your dinner, and I could use some rest before everyone gathers in the drawing room. What a blessing it will be to have the family together!”

  “Will you go up to your room, sir?” John asked. “Shall I help you upstairs?”

  The bishop laughed. “No need, no need. I have my man here with me, and my brother has kindly assigned a footman to assist me, as well. No, my boy, no need at all.”

  He sank back against the sofa cushion, looking winded and faintly regretful, and John wondered just how long he had left.

  * * *

  Waited on by the butler and a footman, John, Ronnie and Caro enjoyed a quick meal of game pie and roast vegetables, and then the three of them joined the Fleetwood family in the drawing room. John discovered the bishop sitting in an overstuffed chair, his feet propped on a low stool, a woolen blanket over his lap. Sir Geoffrey and Lady Fleetwood were on the sofa across from him, while Miss Fleetwood sat perched on a divan, eagerly watching the door.

  “Ah, there you are,” Sir Geoffrey said when he caught sight of them. “Do come in and make yourselves comfortable.”

  “Lady Fleetwood was just about to pour tea,” the bishop added with a smile.

  Caro was right about her father not looking much like his twin, though they did sound alike—or they would have, if Bishop Fleetwood’s voice were not weak with infirmity. He and his brother both spoke in the same deep, reassuring rumble, like thunder heard at a comforting distance, and with the same unruffled air.

  John took a seat on the sofa beside Caro, while Ronnie joined Miss Fleetwood on the divan. “I’m sorry we arrived too late to dine with the family,” John said.

  Sir Geoffrey waved a hand. “No apology necessary. We would’ve held dinner for you, if we’d known you’d be arriving so soon.”

  “It seems strange it’s taken this long to meet you, Lord Welford,” Lady Fleetwood said. “We were in London for our daughter Anne’s presentation the year before your wedding, but missed all the excitement of Caro’s courtship.”

  “I’m not sure it can really be called a courtship,” John said. “It was too precipitate for that—just love at first sight, and then the briefest of engagements. We were needed in Vienna.”

  “Well, John was,” Caro put in with a playful smile. “I can’t say they had great need of me.”

  “I might have known our Caro would fall in love at first sight,” Lady Fleetwood said with a fond look at Caro.

  “I can’t speak for her,” John said, “but I certainly did. The first time I saw her was months before I had an opportunity to speak with her, but she stuck in my head and never left it. It was January, and I was calling on her father in Chelmsford before the opening of Parliament. I was taking my leave, and Caro came in the front door with two of her friends—windblown, laughing at something one of the other girls had said, and wearing a plumed bonnet and a pink pelisse trimmed in gray fur. She walked right past me while I stood and stared, my hat in my hand, pinned to the spot as if I were one of Madame Tussaud’s wax mannequins.”

  Caro turned to him, her lips parted in surprise. “I did have a pink pelisse trimmed with gray fur.”

  “Well, of course you did, darling,” he said, smiling. “I was just talking about it.”

  Sir Geoffrey passed a teacup to John. “It’s hard to believe Caro is a grown woman now, married these five years—though I’m not surprised that when she made up her mind, she did it quickly. Even as a little girl, she was the sort who rarely spent much time looking before she leaped.”

  “Quite literally,” Bishop Fleetwood agreed. “She never could go around a puddle, but always had to jump into it with both feet.”

  “Caro can be a trifle headstrong, but that’s what makes life with her so interesting.” John was surprised the compliment rolled so easily off his tongue. It was true in its way. There was rarely a dull moment when Caro was present.

  “Fortunately she never got into any very great mischief,” Lady Fleetwood said. “In fact, she tended to err on the side of being too friendly and too generous. When the Verneys’ cat had kittens, Caro brought all four of them home, and without even asking her papa first whether she might keep a pet.”

  “I wouldn’t call that headstrong so much as impetuous,” Bishop Fleetwood said. “After all, I’d never told her not to bring home four kittens.”

  John studied Caro with interest. He’d never thought of her as particularly impetuous. Heedless of the damage she caused, yes, but was that the same thing?

  If he was honest with himself, he didn’t know his wife very well. They’d been little better than acquaintances when he proposed, and after she’d run away and then told him lie after lie on their wedding night, he’d been too disillusioned to make much effort to understand her. Besides, how familiar could one really become with any woman who was so careless with the truth? But here, among the people who knew her best, the family who’d raised her and loved her...Well, he had the sense he was seeing the real Caro for the first time.

  “Caro may be impetuous, but she’s never behaved in an unladylike way,” Lady Fleetwood said. She was a handsome woman rather than a beautiful one, but she had such animation in her face and manner that John had no doubt she won admirers everywhere she went. “We were always happy to have her with us, because she was such a good influence on our Anne.”

  “And Anne is a year older,” Sir Geoffrey said. “It took Caro’s stealing a bit of her thunder, to say nothing of all the local boys’ attention, for her to become more mindful of her comportment.”

  Lady Fleetwood smiled nostalgically. “Caro was always so graceful in her manner, and so gracious to everyone.”

  “You’ll give me a big head, both of you,” Caro said.

  “It’s only what we’ve always felt. And what’s more, you were a favorite with our servants,” Lady Fleetwood said. “Always cheerful, never demanding, and the maids used to say you took such good care of your clothes and your room, they were hardly needed.”

  “I’m very proud of her,” Bishop Fleetwood said warmly. “But then, I expect John feels the same way.”

  John glanced at Caro. “I think the proudest moment of my life may have been when Caro agreed to marry me.” He could say that much without bending the truth, even if his marriage had quickly proven a disappointment.

  A soft blush colored her cheeks. “Goodness, you’re all flattering me dreadfully.”

  “Yes, Caro wasn’t as perfect as all that,” Miss Fleetwood said in a tone of unmistakable envy. “She and Anne got into scrapes enough when they were together.”

  “They got into a bit of mischief,” Sir Geoffrey allowed, “but nothing serious.” He looked over at his wife. “Remember the night they stole out of the house to have their fortunes told by that gypsy woman at the fair?”

  “How could I forget it?” To John she said, “They missed their way in the dark, coming home. They might both be lost in the woods to this day if they hadn’t heard our dog Flash barking, and followed the sound home.”

  “I suspect that was the beginning of my gray hair, picturing the two of them wandering about in the night with no escort,” Sir Geoffrey added. “As young and innocent as they were, and where anyone might have happened upon them...”

  “Oh, Uncle Geoffrey, it was nowhere near as bad as you’re making it sound.” Caro turned a look of appeal on her father. “It was only a little dark, Papa, and we weren’t lost for very long. We didn’t come to any harm.”

  “Never fear, cara mia. I can see you lived through the adventure.”

  John found it interesting that, though Caro was a marrie
d woman with a husband present, her first reaction wasn’t laughter or a glance in his direction, but an obvious anxiety about her father’s opinion. Was that only because the bishop was ill and she didn’t wish to risk upsetting him, or was she really so worried about his disapproval? “Did the fortune-teller have anything of interest to say?”

  “As a matter of fact, she did,” Lady Fleetwood said. “She told Caro that she would marry a man who was tall, dark and handsome.”

  “Got it right on at least two counts,” Ronnie said. “I can’t speak to the third, since John isn’t precisely my type.”

  Miss Fleetwood threw a coquettish glance in John’s direction. “Three counts.”

  Caro laughed. “How amusing! I’d forgotten about the gypsy woman’s prediction. I thought it must be what she said to all the girls. But John is tall and handsome, and certainly dark.”

  John wondered if she really thought him handsome, or if the remark was purely for the sake of the show they were putting on. “I had my fortune told in Austria, by a woman at a dinner party who claimed she could read cards.”

  “Did she read your fortune as well, Caro?” her cousin asked.

  “No, I was—at home with the headache that evening.” She looked quickly at John. “Tell them what she said about you, darling.”

  For such a practiced liar, she seemed terribly jumpy. Or was he simply growing better at noticing the little signs that gave her away—the overly quick smiles, the rushed speech? “She said I would find happiness after a long journey.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Ronnie said. “What did you make of her prediction?”

  “I wasn’t overly impressed—”

  He broke off as Caro surreptitiously pinched his arm.

  “Because you were already happy?” she asked in a tone that was half question, half prompting.

  Because he was already happy...A couple at the dinner party that night had just announced their engagement, and as they’d accepted congratulations left and right, their glowing faces and happy smiles had only added to John’s sense of failure. Everyone at the embassy knew he was recently married, and everyone knew he’d come to Vienna alone. Every social gathering he attended was a humiliating exercise in ignoring the inquisitive looks that came his way and deflecting the tactfully worded questions about Lady Welford’s health.

  “Yes, of course there was that,” he agreed. “But if I appeared less than happy that night—if I was wishing you were there with me, and worried about you at home—it still wasn’t a very impressive prediction. How great a stretch can it be to see travel in a diplomat’s future? It’s rather like telling a doctor he’ll have reason to worry about the health of an acquaintance, or a banker that money will cross his palm.”

  “Very wise,” the bishop said. “I’ve been telling Caro since she was a little girl that fortune-telling is nothing more than pagan superstition.”

  “There’s fortune-telling enough in the Bible. What about the Witch of Endor?” Sir Geoffrey asked his brother with a lift of one eyebrow. “She raised the ghost of Samuel, and the spirit predicted Saul’s downfall. Not that I believe in witches or fortune-telling or ghosts for that matter, but you must admit the pagans weren’t the only ones who dealt in such magic.”

  The bishop laughed. “Ever the devil’s advocate, Geoff. I can’t say Saul was very happy with the outcome of that exercise.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if there were a little magic at work in the world,” John said. “More of that sense when two people meet for the first time that they’ve known each other all their lives, and more happy coincidences. One of the first things Caro and I ever talked about was the potential for hot cross buns to ensure lasting friendship.”

  “Why, that’s true!” she exclaimed beside him. “I’d forgotten all about it. How did you remember?”

  He glanced across at her. “I remember everything about those days.”

  Lady Fleetwood broke into a sentimental smile. “How perfectly romantic.”

  “He certainly is,” Miss Fleetwood agreed with a sigh.

  * * *

  “Good night, both of you,” Aunt Ella said as she took Uncle Geoffrey’s arm. “Sleep well.”

  “We will. We’re going up ourselves, as soon as I finish my tea,” Caro said. Ronnie, Sophia and her father had retired some time before, though she’d stayed downstairs to reminisce with her aunt and uncle, and John had remained at her side. “Good night.”

  “Yes, good night,” John said with a polite smile.

  Her aunt and uncle made their way out. Caro waited a few long seconds, until the sound of their footsteps faded away. Then she breathed a gusty sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness. Now we can be ourselves again. I’m exhausted.”

  John’s smile disappeared abruptly. “Is it really so difficult, pretending to care for me?”

  “That wasn’t what I meant.” After a moment, she nodded her head to one side in a gesture of grudging assent. “Well, in a way it was—but I was only referring to the pretending part. You’ve been marvelous. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we really have been living together for years now, blissfully happy.”

  “In that case, you might do a more convincing job of not flinching when I touch you.”

  “I didn’t flinch! I was merely startled. It’s not easy to go from being at each other’s throats to being doted on, all in the space of a day. Besides, it’s not going to be believable if we overdo it.”

  “I’m going up to bed,” John said, taking a candle. “I’ll see you upstairs.”

  He brushed past her. Caro watched him go, his back straight again in the same perfect, unyielding posture that never failed to make her feel small and disappointing. She’d obviously said the wrong thing, both with her initial denial and with her more honest justifications. The surprisingly part was, she’d actually enjoyed spending the evening with him, and had thought more than once how different life would be if he really were the fond, good-humored husband he was pretending to be. Certainly Sophia had seemed taken with him, throwing him looks of girlish admiration every time she glanced his way.

  And why not? Caro had had no idea he was such a gifted actor. She’d almost believed him herself when he’d talked about the first time he’d seen her. Had he really remembered her pink pelisse, or had that been merely a lucky invention?

  Whatever the case, the constant pressure of keeping up appearances had strained her nerves and left her feeling worn to the socket. Caro blew out the candles on the pianoforte, then took the last remaining light and set off to retire.

  She’d just passed through the open drawing room door when the sound of a quickly indrawn breath from the shadows made her halt in her tracks. “Is someone there?”

  No one answered.

  “Hullo?” Caro held out the candle and moved closer, her heart beating out of time. A small figure lurked in the dark corner beside the door. Caro lifted the candle higher, and the flickering light revealed her cousin’s pretty face. “Sophia—what are you doing there?”

  Caught, Sophia could only step forward with a guilty look. “I came downstairs to offer you the use of my abigail while you’re staying here.”

  “And then decided to eavesdrop?” Caro said with a growing sense of alarm. “How long have you been by the door?”

  Sophia’s chin came up in defiance. “Long enough to know you and Lord Welford aren’t nearly as happy together as you’re pretending to be.”

  Oh, no. Only their first night with her family, and already they’d been found out? Caro scrambled to repair the damage. “How absurd! You must have misunderstood.”

  “Is that so? You certainly sounded different, once your audience was gone. I could’ve sworn you said something about not really living together for the past five years.”

  “That was a private conversation,” Caro objected, thou
gh she could already tell she was waging a losing battle.

  “I can see why.”

  “Sophia, please.” Caro set a hand on her arm. “If there are certain aspects of our relationship Welford and I prefer to keep to ourselves, we have good reason. You know how ill my father is. Think how upset he would be if he were to learn my marriage is unhappy. I can’t do that to him.”

  “Why is your marriage unhappy?” Sophia asked with undisguised curiosity. “Was Lord Welford unfaithful to you, or were you unfaithful to him?”

  “I’m not going to dignify that question with an answer.” At the flash of resentment that crossed Sophia’s face, Caro hastened to smooth things over. She needed her cousin’s cooperation if she and John were to have any hope of carrying off their deception. “Welford and I don’t suit, that’s all. We started off on the wrong foot and things only grew worse from there.”

  Sophia’s eyes narrowed, as if she didn’t quite believe Caro’s explanation. “If things are so dreadful, why is he helping you?” With gossipy relish, she asked, “Are you blackmailing him?”

  “Blackmailing Welford? Of course not. As if he would ever do something so improper he could be blackmailed for it, or I could make him do anything he didn’t want to do! He came willingly, because he admires and respects Papa. And if you have any affection at all for my father, you won’t give away our secret.”

  Another secret. Caro was drowning in them, and in the falsehoods necessary to keep them from coming to light. First she’d set out to hide the truth of her marriage from her father, then she’d undertaken to cover up Ronnie’s drinking, and now she was entering into a conspiracy with her cousin—a conspiracy she was also going to have to keep secret from John, for if he suspected Sophia had already guessed the truth, he might well decide the game was up and tell her father everything. And all because of the first secret she’d kept, the first lies she’d told, longing for Lawrence Howe even as she’d agreed to marry John.

  When this was over, she was never going to tell another lie again.